


Oh What a Pair Are We

by Crookykanks



Category: Wicked - Schwartz/Holzman
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 19:06:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4071199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crookykanks/pseuds/Crookykanks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pair of shorts on a pair of witches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bath

**Author's Note:**

> Originally stand-alone shorts, but always meant as a pair. Cross-posted from LiveJournal.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say a bath can clear the senses and refresh the mind.

With a frustrated sigh, she slammed the door behind her, stalking angrily into the bathroom. It wasn't as if she wasn't already tortured enough, but now this?

"Ozma," she heaved while reaching for the faucet. She yanked the hot water knob and let it run straight for a few minutes until the steam became hard to bear. She then twisted the cold water gently and let her hand drift under the steady flow of water until it reached a comfortable temperature. With another sigh, she backed away from the filling tub and began to toss her clothes carelessly aside. She wasn't wearing much. She hardly ever wore much more than a simple dress and cloak any more. A remembrance of better times.

Once again, she came close to the water, almost hesitantly, though that might have been because she knew it was hotter than usual. Once hand on the wall, she lifted her leg slowly, gracefully to step in. Watching herself, she noticed for the first time that she seemed to have lost some weight. Though never plump, her knees stood out oddly against the more than visible bones of her legs. Cursing the nervous wreck she had recently become, she slinked into the water. It stung, and she recognized the sting, but she obstinately refused to acknowledge it. People told her that she had become more stubborn, more unyielding, since the death of –

No. Not now. This was a time to relax, not worry anymore. She swirled one finger delicately in the water, watching the waves. The heat rose in steam form, leaving her burning and shivering at the same time. The feeling overpowered her senses; she found she was having a hard time concentrating on anything. At first, she was slightly angry. She had thought that a good bath would ease her mind, but it felt clouded instead. No, clouded wasn't the right word. Free. She couldn't concentrate on the days ahead, but neither could she focus on the past. She sighed and relaxed into the heat of the water. Maybe this was where that saying had come from, letting your troubles melt away.

A harsh laugh escaped her. _Melt._ That silly rumor from the Emerald City. Certainly at Shiz _Elphie_ hadn't liked getting wet in public, no more than _Galinda_ had liked stray water to ruin one of her silk dresses. But _Elphie_ didn't exist anymore. In truth, she mused, neither did _Galinda_. People were so ignorant. Her finger, which had become idle while she was lost in thought, now led her hand as it thrust itself harshly deep into the water. She braced herself against the hard bottom of the tub and twisted around to grab a rag, one of the better ones, pink and rough. As she grabbed it, her hand knocked some bath oils. She rolled her eyes, wondering for the hundredth time why she kept them on that precarious shelf anyway. She dropped the rag on the edge of the tub and leaned over the edge of the tub. The cold marble pressed into her chest, stinging even more than the hot water. As she began picking them up, her eyes landed on one that she had forgotten about. She smiled and reached for it. It was, like much else in the bathroom, light pink, tiny and translucent. For a moment, she couldn't remember where she had gotten the bottle that reminded her of her old roommate; then she knew. She had stolen this particular little memento from the roomie herself. She doubted that the bottle was still filled with the original oil, rose scented and skin softening according to the label.

"A sensual thrill that will leave you fresh and revitalized for that special someone," she read. A grin broke across her face, the first one in weeks. Ever since—no. She'd been through this already. Let it all melt away.

That girl. That idiot girl. The little brat. She had taken the one love that she had left. Nothing was left now. She was alone. What was that old saying – the wicked die alone. Another harsh laugh. Perhaps she was wicked. Perhaps everyone was. Well, not everyone; her roomie hadn't been. She took the bottle - it did have something in it – and poured some of the oil lightly on her rag. She rubbed her legs gently, mildly imagining other hands rubbing her. Feminine hands with long nails, painted in a deep rose red that the owner would never admit looked good on her. She chortled and the image left, returning only for short periods as she continued her wash. As she finished up, she sighed and dipped her head back, submerging completely for the first time. A pity her roommate's old oil didn't make those fluffy little bath bubbles they mass produced in Emerald City now. She would have pinned her roomie to have something like that far ahead of when it actually caught on with the masses. For a minute she stayed under the surface, mildly considering just staying under and drowning. Let the people have their melted witch.

Suddenly, she burst up through the water gasping. _That was it!_ Let them have what they wanted. The little girl – the already labeled a witch killer – was coming, she knew that. Let the brat tack another witch to her list. She leapt out of the tub, dripping wet and barely remembering to pull the plug. She wrenched her robe, warm from the build up of steam in the room, from its hook and roughly twisted her hair into a knot. She knew she would look a mess when the girl got here, but it hardly mattered. It wasn't as though she was trying to impress anyone – especially not this brat and her odd friends. Barely dressed and leaving foot-shaped watermarks on the floor behind her, she dashed out into the empty hall to look for a bucket. That west tower had a leak in the roof – that ought to do it. Now, Elphaba mused, where had Fiyero said that trap door was…


	2. Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Certainly she had thought about 'why' she was green, but never why she was 'green'.

It was almost embarrassing if she thought about it. Certinaly she had asked herself _why_ she was green, but never why she was _green_. Thinking on the subject, they were actually entirely separate questions. Green was an odd color, unlike any other. Blue signified serenity or calmness, red was anger and lust, yellow was happiness, pink was love. A peachy flesh tone like Glinda's meant health. But green – green was different. Green was the color of growth and the color of decay; the color of life and sickness; the color of power and corruption; of wealth and of greed. Green was a color of controversy, a color of harmony, a color of intensity and a color that could never seem to make up its mind.

Almost odd how it should fit her so well, as though her skin had conformed to her personality, or perhaps vice versa. She could never know.

She stared down at the green on her fingers, flexing them and testing their hue. What else could green mean for her? Almost anything, she decided, almost anything at all. Green would be new life this time, not death. She would not decay into the earth, falling pale to its contagious mossy tones – no. No, she would spring forth, less like the well ordered grass, and more like a weed – bright, vibrant, uncontrollable.

She turned and stared out the small window. Emerald city. More green. More irony. A city so beautiful, and so poisonous. People told rumors of poisoned poppies to the east, red as fire and spreading twice as fast. But red wasn't the color of poison – green was. And the Emerald City was certainly growing faster than any poppy field, poisonous or not, could hope to. The city brought order and beauty to those within its walls. It sparkled as though it were truly made of the fabled Glikkun gems rather than plaster and paint like any other city. It sparkled high over the ruined anarchy of Munchkinland, over the tired remains of Quadling Country, over the warring realms in the Vinkus – which were about to be casually swallowed by the sparkling towers and the Gale Force within. She shuddered. Only Gillikin would survive unscathed, whole. Only Gillikin had not fought back. Gillikin knew the power of shining gems long before the city was built. Gillikin knew better. Stones could never be trusted.

She sighed and turned, shaking, back to her hands. Green and smooth to the touch – for once they seemed lovely. She had been told that they were, long ago – but no one looked anymore. She was vaguely aware of someone calling her name. The voice was distant and she ignored it as long as she could in favor of the single confused color in front of her.

"Lady Glinda? Would you like to purchase those gloves? They do go ever so nicely with your eyes."

Glinda's eyes, shining with memory and glazed with thought turned on the shop clerk. They looked her over, clearing slightly, enough for their emerald tone to become piercing and sharp, then glazed again and fell back to the satin emerald gloves. Glinda never made eye contact these days.

"Yes," she replied dreamily, "yes, I think I would."


End file.
